


The Witch's Cat

by Champagne



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Modern Fantasy AU, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Witch Jon, or as slow as i could make it while keeping it as short as possible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25332742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Champagne/pseuds/Champagne
Summary: “That’s the Witch’s cat,” Tim says, and grins at Martin. “Jonathan Sims, the town’s Witch, said that he’ll marry anyone that manages to get the key from the cat’s collar.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 84
Kudos: 1129





	The Witch's Cat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zykaben](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zykaben/gifts).



> And though none of these are described in detail, cw for panic attacks, stalking and murder. 
> 
> There's a few vague spoiler for events that happen/are mentioned at the end of s3 and s4, but if you don't already have the pieces for it you won't know they're spoilers :3c
> 
> ALSO this is _directly_ inspired by [this](https://lullychi.tumblr.com/post/188006801905/everyone-whos-been-talking-to-me-knows-ive-been) comic and associated text post. Huge thanks to writingdisaster on tumblr and kealpos in the comments for the links!
> 
> edit: SOMEONE DREW [ART](https://3sides1eye.tumblr.com/post/626097195106664448/based-on-the-witchjon-fic-by) AND IM C R Y I N G

Martin sees the cat immediately upon getting into town. It’s a long haired black cat with eyes such a unique hazel that, at first, he doesn’t know what color they are. They shift from green to brown to blue to grey in the moments it stares back at him, and it’s in those moments that Martin also notices the key around its neck. It’s prismatic and catches the light, scattering rainbows against black fur.

Then the cat is off like a bullet, and trailing behind it is a small group of people, men and women alike. Martin can’t hear what they’re shouting from his spot on the bus, but the looks on their faces range from excited, to panicked, to desperate.

The man sitting beside him hums and clicks his tongue. “Still at it?” he says, almost under his breath.

Martin looks over at him. “What was that?”

He’s fit and lean, and about as tall as Martin is from the looks of it, even though they’re both sitting. His hair is in a bunch of small curls close to his head, and he crosses his arms before answering, making the muscles bulge. Martin isn’t sure if it’s intentional or not.

“They’re still chasing that cat,” he says. Then, as if remembering their manners, he holds out a hand. “Tim, by the way. I live here, but I was on vacation for a few months.”

“Months?” Martin repeats, then shakes his head. “What’s so special about that cat?” he asks instead.

“That’s the Witch’s cat,” Tim says, and grins at Martin. “Jonathan Sims, the town’s Witch, said that he’ll marry anyone that manages to get the key from the cat’s collar.”

Martin furrows his brow, and blinks. “That’s…”

“Weird, right?” Tim chuckles. “People don’t think about what happens _after_ the marriage, though. They just want the magic that comes with it.” He shrugs. “Chasing the cat is better than the alternative, though. By a landslide.”

Martin pauses for just a second before asking, “Which was?”

“People got into fights over him,” Tim says, and shakes his head. His smile turns into a grimace and he sighs through his nose. “A few people died. It really ate him up.”

“The Witch?”

“Yeah.” The smile returns along with a cocked eyebrow. “I’m a friend,” he says. “I was there to see it all firsthand. It was rough stuff.”

“Oh.” Martin looks back out the bus window, but it’s slowing down near the town square, where a massive white tree with purple leaves blocks out most of the sun.

“If you ever need anything,” Tim says as the bus comes to a stop. He gets up and pulls a backpack from the overhead luggage compartment, and shoots a finger gun at Martin. “Go to The Archives off Central. Say Tim sent you.”

“Oh,” Martin says again, and smiles at Tim. “Thank you. I’ll, I’ll keep that in mind.” Tim returns the smile with another shot from his finger gun, and heads off. Martin waits a few minutes for the bus to empty before grabbing his own luggage and heading off into the town.

* * *

His landlords are a woman named Georgie and her partner Melanie. Georgie is a beautiful, plump woman with hair similar to Tim’s but a golden brown instead, and Melanie is a blind woman with--and it takes him a few seconds of staring to believe it--a seeing eye cat. It is a massive, fluffy orange cat that wears a harness and meows every time Martin looks down at him.

“His name is The Admiral,” Georgie tells him, as she unlocks the door to his new flat. It’s fully furnished, as promised, and the general setup reminds him of his grandmother’s house, with the floral print sofa and armchair, and the crocheted blanket over the back of one, with a brightly patterned quilt over the other. “And here we are. Is there anything you need?”

“Oh, uh.” Martin sets down his bag and looks around, before turning to Georgie and asking, “A map?”

“Of course.” Georgie pulls one right out of her back pocket and hands it over. It looks hand drawn, and is labeled in both English and another language Martin doesn’t even recognize. “You’re here,” she says, and points to the building labeled _Salt Flats_. The joke still makes Martin crack a smile. “Places of interest include here, here, here and here.” And she points to places labeled _Normal Books, The Archives, Red Strings_ and _James’ Goods_.

“Thank you,” Martin says, and bows his head slightly.

Georgie gives him an affectionate lopsided smile. “No need for that, Martin,” she says. “We’re family now, so treat us like it.” She rolls her eyes when Melanie takes up some sort of ready position, and tells him, “Ignore her, she likes to roughhouse.”

“You’re my brother now,” Melanie says. “I can and will take you down.”

“Noted,” Martin says, and can’t help a laugh when Melanie scoffs and directs a glare towards Georgie, accompanied by The Admiral’s upset meows.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Melanie says, though she sounds a bit annoyed. She pouts at Georgie when she’s pulled to her side.

“Do you have a cellphone?” Georgie asks. She pulls out her own when he nods. “So with this town, you have to dial two before anyone, otherwise it goes Outside.” She taps out Martin’s number and looks up at him, smiling when his phone starts ringing. “Oh, and don’t hand out your number willy nilly,” she adds. “Names are alright here, but numbers are a bit more personal.”

Martin tilts his head. “Why is that?”

Georgie shrugs. “That’s just how Jon set it up.”

“Jon,” he says. “The Witch?”

Melanie snorts. “Yeah, the Witch,” she says. “He’s our town patron, so he has power over everything and everyone.”

“Sounds…” Martin chews on his lower lip. “Ominous?”

“It would be, yeah,” Georgie says, and elbows Melanie gently. She still gets an indignant squawk. “If Jon wasn’t a good man. He’s the best patron this town has ever had.”

“And.” Martin tilts his head. “The cat?” he asks.

“Ah.” Georgie rolls her eyes. “Don’t bother. Nobody is meant to catch the cat, but it gives people something to focus on.”

“Really, only the people that don’t want to marry Jon can get close to it,” Melanie tells him. “And the cat just _loves_ Tim. It’ll be absolutely thrilled to hear he’s back in town.”

“Oh,” Martin says, as it starts to make sense. “The cat is a Familiar.”

Georgie’s smile takes on a sharp edge, and her tone implies there’s more to it when she says, “Something like that.”

Martin doesn’t ask.

* * *

“Hey!”

Martin looks over to see Tim wave at him, and slows down enough for him to catch up.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, and Martin feels his face heat up.

“I’m just shopping,” he mumbles.

Tim grins at him like he just made a joke. “Still! It’s a pretty big town. How’s your first week been going?”

“Well.” Martin laughs, and puts a box of graham crackers into his shopping cart. “It’s certainly been lively.”

“Yeah?” Tim laughs too, and drops a jar of raspberry jam in as well. He holds his hands up when Martin gives him a look. “Just try it,” he says, then continues with, “This town is usually lively. What happened this time?”

“I.” Martin pauses to laugh. “I saw the Witch’s cat? I was, I was talking to Gerry--”

“Hit it off, eh?” Tim nods. “That’s good.”

“Yeah, he was giving me book recommendations, and the cat just.” Martin motions to the empty space in front of him. “Jumped up onto the counter? And then basically fell right back off when it saw me, and bolted out the door.”

“And did the gaggle come in after it?” Tim asks.

Martin rolls his eyes. “Six people. _Six_. Just barge into the bookstore and demand to know which way the cat went!”

“Yeah, that’s pretty normal,” Tim says, and pats Martin’s shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Does that cat even get a chance to rest?” Martin asks.

“Oh yeah.” Tim grins like he knows something Martin doesn’t, which is pretty likely given that Tim has lived there much longer than Martin has by years. “Loads of time, but you don’t really remember the times you don’t see the cat, right?”

“I.” Martin blinks. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Tim throws an arm around Martin’s shoulder. “Have you seen Sasha yet?”

Martin gently elbows him off, and Tim lets go without a fuss. “Sasha?”

“Store owner. Sasha James.” Tim gets up onto the tips of his toes and looks over the shelves. “She’s pretty hard to miss, because she wears the most _ridiculous_ hats.”

“Ah.” Martin recalls seeing a woman near the entrance wearing a headpiece that looked more like a rose bouquet than any actual hat. “Yes, I’ve seen her.”

“She’s this town’s primary importer of goods,” Tim tells him. “She’s the only one that really willingly deals with Outside. Well.” Tim shrugs. “Her and Jon.” He adds a can of corn to Martin’s cart when Martin motions for it. “What else has gone on with you?”

Martin heaves a sigh. “I met Michael?”

“Shelley or Crew?”

“Shelley.” Martin rolls his eyes, and Tim gives him a sympathetic smile. “He tried to eat me.”

“Ah, yeah.” Tim shakes his head. “Probably didn’t recognize you and thought you were an Outsider.”

“Lucky me the agreement I signed with Georgie makes me a resident.” Martin rolls his eyes again. “Michael did try to cut off some of my hair, though.”

“Oh, that.” Tim chuckles, and it turns into a laugh when Martin glares at him. “No, I get it, it’s weird, but he sort of works for Jon? Sort of!” He holds his hands up when Martin brandishes a loaf of bread like a sword. “He lets Jon know when new people are in town, because he can usually tell who doesn’t belong here.”

Martin frowns. “Ah. I see.”

“ _Usually_ ,” Tim repeats. “But you’re part of the town now, so he probably wanted to give Jon some part of you so that _Jon_ doesn’t do the same thing.”

Martin pauses, and looks over at Tim. “...try to eat me?”

Tim barks a laugh. “Try to banish you.”

“Oh, is _that_ what he was doing?”

Tim shrugs. “Maybe he was also trying to eat you, I don’t know, but he gets sustenance through the door, and can dump people outside of the town’s limits if they walk through it.”

Martin throws a wrapped head of lettuce into his cart. “This place is weird.”

Tim grins at him. “This place is _magic_.”

* * *

Martin feels him long before he actually sees him. It’s a weight on his shoulders, like eyes on his back that see right through him and straight into his heart. He turns around in time to see the man round the corner, and the first thing Martin notices about him is his eyes.

Blue, green, brown, grey, shifting and almost glowing in the setting sun. He’s staring down at his phone as he walks, but his irises seem to draw in the light and reflect it back.

And he pauses and looks right up at Martin when he continues to stare.

“You’re new,” he says, and his tone is rough and almost accusatory.

“Yeah.” Martin rubs the back of his neck. “Moved in earlier this week, at the Salt Flats.”

“Ah.” He looks at Martin’s face, then at his arm, then up at his hair. Then he looks down at his phone again and taps out a message. Martin’s phone pings less than a minute later. “So you’re the new addition,” he grumbles.

“Martin Blackwood,” he says, and has to physically restrain himself from holding out a hand. Instead, he pulls out his phone and looks down at the notification. It’s from an unknown number, the digits themselves hidden, and the message is simply his flat number.

“Jonathan Sims.” Jon runs a hand through his hair, and draws Martin’s eye to the streaks of grey. “The Witch.”

“I heard,” Martin says, and stutters a moment when Jon glares at him. “Tim told me.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “So he’s back in town, is he?”

Martin decides not to draw attention to the fact that Jon seems to be making an effort not to smile.

“Rode in on the bus with him, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says immediately, and does sound a little apologetic. “He can be.” He pauses to chew on his lip, then sighs. “A handful.”

“No, it’s.” Martin laughs a little and shakes his head. “It’s alright. He’s a good friend.”

Jon looks back down at his phone. “Indeed.” 

The silence is a little awkward, but Jon doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to it as he taps out another message. Martin’s phone pings again.

The message has an actual number attached to it this time, and the body simply reads, _This is Jonathan Sims_.

“Let me know if you need anything, Martin,” Jon says, and turns to walk away.

Martin finally notices the key on a leather rope around his neck as it catches the sunlight and glistens silver.

“Oh!” Martin holds a hand out but doesn’t dare touch him. Jon stops and turns back to him on his own, though, and arches a brow. “Is your cat alright?” He nods down at the key. “It must get tired from running around all the time.”

Jon reaches up to hold onto the shaft of the key. “It.” His brow furrows, and for a second Martin wonders if Tim and Georgie were pulling his leg. Then, his face smooths and he shrugs. “He gets rest when he needs it,” he says, like it’s something he’s repeated too many times. There’s a moment of silence, then Jon says, almost as an afterthought, “He tends to hang around The Archives. And his name is The Archivist.”

Martin smiles a little, and Jon looks a bit darker as he turns away but doesn’t leave just yet. “Is he related to The Admiral, by chance?”

Jon cracks a small smile himself and shakes his head. “No,” he says. “But they did grow up together, in a way.” And then he walks off without another word.

Martin watches him until he disappears around another street corner, and then he shakes his head and starts home.

What an odd place, and what an _odd_ man. Martin is certain he'll grow to love it here.

* * *

His last stop on his _Get To Know The Town_ tour is The Archives. Half because settling in has been busier than anticipated, with having to introduce himself to nearly every other resident.

The other half because, every time he gets close to it, he feels pushed away. Like there’s some kind of wind buffeting him and turning him away from the building itself.

Georgie is rather unhelpful when he asks about it.

“Sometimes it’s just like that,” she says, and shrugs. “It’ll go away eventually.”

It takes until nearly halfway through his second week before he is able to approach it at all, and even then the windows are dark and the door is locked.

He looks up at the sound of a slight jingle, and makes direct eye contact with The Archivist, perched on the fence of the neighboring building.

“Hello,” he says, and tries not to feel silly about talking to a cat, given The Archivist was Jon’s Familiar...if he understood the context correctly. “Any chance I can get inside?”

The Archivist lets out a soft _mrrp_ , and then jumps into the roof of The Archives and disappears. Seconds later, another gaggle of people round the closest corner and curse their luck on losing sight of the cat. They split up to search, and leave Martin alone in front of The Archives.

Jon opens the door not even a minute later.

“Oh,” Martin says.

Jon looks tired, weatherworn and already annoyed, but when he breathes out, “Hello Martin,” he doesn’t sound annoyed at _him_ , but perhaps in general. “Is anyone following you?”

“Following…?” Martin looks over his shoulder and sees no one around, no one at all, despite it being mid afternoon on a Tuesday. The gaggle of cat chasers apparently already went their separate ways for the day and gave up early this time around. “No?”

“Excellent. Come in.”

He turns around to see the empty doorway and Jon’s retreating back. He steps inside and closes the door behind him before someone spots him, and calls out, “Uh, Jon?”

“This way.” Jon’s arm waves from around a bookshelf, and Martin heads that direction.

The Archives is, as expected, an archive of some sort. Not quite a library but close, given the contents. Bookshelves are lined up from the front of the store all the way to the back, and stuffed to the brim with books, folders, files, and other kinds of information including but not limited to old fashioned tapes and even vinyl records.

When Martin finally catches up to Jon, he’s walking around an overcrowded desk and just plopping down into the office chair on the opposite side. “What can I do for you, Martin?” he asks, and sounds just as tired and annoyed as before, but less winded.

“Oh, uh.” Martin rubs the back of his neck. “I, I didn’t. Well.”

Jon shuffles through the war zone that is the top of the desk, and then holds out a manilla folder and sits back in his chair. He pulls open a drawer and starts rifling through it. “Until you figure out what it is you need, fill this out for me,” he says, and eventually hands Martin a cheap ballpoint pen, missing its cap.

Martin takes the pen and folder, and hesitates as he looks around for a place to sit. “Um.”

Jon blinks at him and raises a brow, and then seems to remember something and shakes his head. “Right, yes. Here.”

Martin only jumps a little when Jon snaps and a simple wooden stool apparates into the empty spot in front of his desk.

Jon goes back to looking through the clutter, and Martin hesitates for only a second more before sitting down and opening the folder.

It’s a profile, of him specifically. It has some pieces filled out already, such as his name, birthdate, birth parents, and current residence, but the rest is blank. He looks up at Jon, glaring at his phone now, and then back down at the profile and shrugs.

He’s almost done with it when it finally hits him. “Oh!”

Jon’s head snaps up, and he knocks over a few things at the same time, but he turns to Martin and asks, “Yes, did you finally remember?”

He sounds profoundly put out. Martin decides to ignore this.

“Is there any way you can prevent someone from entering the town?” he asks.

Jon purses his lips and says nothing, and for a second Martin is afraid that Jon is about to berate and deny him. But then Jon’s eyes flash, cycling through blue, green, grey and brown in a split second, and he nods. “Alright.”

Martin blinks. “But I didn’t even--”

“No need,” Jon says, and holds his hand out. Martin stares at him long enough that Jon sighs and rolls his eyes. He even wiggles his fingers. “The _folder_ , Martin.”

“Oh!” Martin hands it over despite not being finished with it. “I--”

“It’s fine,” Jon says, and gives it a quick once over. “It’ll do.”

“But.” Martin frowns. “I could--”

“No need, Martin,” Jon says, and sounds annoyed again. “It’ll do.” Then Jon hums and, in a tone Martin can only label as mocking, says, “Thank you for stopping by The Archives, please come again.”

He doesn’t know what to make of it until he hears Jon grumble, “I wish Georgie didn’t make me say that.”

Then he can’t help a smile, spurred by a sudden warmth in his chest, and he stands. “Uh. Thank you,” he says, and bows his head.

Jon stares pointedly at his phone even though the screen is dark, and he frowns. “It’s my job,” he mutters.

Martin decides to leave while he’s ahead.

* * *

Martin is sitting on one of the many park benches when The Archivist launches himself into his lap and wiggles his way under Martin’s jumper. He decides to wait until the group of people, about seven this time, run right past him while shouting after the cat, before he looks down at the new lump on his stomach and asks, “Alright there?”

The Archivist lets out an irritated _mrow_ and adjusts so he can poke his head out of the bottom of Martin’s jumper and look around. At this point, the situation is too comical for Martin to do anything but play along.

The cat’s fur is surprisingly soft for being so dirty, with leaves and twigs stuck in it, but The Archivist bolts to the ground and skitters away when Martin starts trying to clean it. He hisses and his hackles raise, but he doesn’t move too far and stays just out of Martin’s reach.

“Oh come on,” Martin says, and holds out a hand. “I’m not about to take the key. Seems rather dishonest, if you ask me. I just wanted to get the bits out of your fur.” He wiggles his fingers, and The Archivist growls at him, but does inch forward. He rubs his face against Martin’s fingers and hisses when Martin moves his hand, but doesn’t pull away. Martin dutifully holds his hand out for The Archivist to rub his face against, even as his arm gets tired. He even manages to get a little closer, kneeling down in front of the cat without him running away.

But The Archivist _does_ jump and bolt away the moment when Tim goes, “Oh, hey!” Martin clicks his tongue and watches him run off, as Tim jogs up and stops in front of him, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare him.”

“He’s too jumpy,” Martin says, and sighs. He gets up and brushes off his knees before sitting back down on the bench. “That cat needs a break.”

“Jon’s not going to marry just anyone,” Tim says, and takes the spot next to Martin. “He’s already had some pretty bad experiences with the whole magical courting thing already.”

Martin closes his book, now abandoned, and finally looks at Tim, who’s wearing a loose tanktop and jogging shorts. “He has?”

“Yeah.” Tim takes a long drink from his water bottle and lets out a breath. “He came to this town to get away from that.”

Martin raises a brow, and frowns. “...should you be telling me this?” he asks. “Seems rather...private.”

“The Archivist doesn’t like just anyone,” Tim says instead of responding. “He’s already skittish, yeah, but he’s also super wary of new people. And Jon basically has it so nobody will catch him and get that key.”

“Magic?” Martin asks, even though he knows the answer before Tim has the chance to nod. “I mean, I suppose that’s all good and everything, but it can’t be good for the cat to spend all of his time on the run.”

“He doesn’t.” Tim shrugs. “When Jon’s in, he’s on break, basically.”

“In...The Archives?” Martin asks. “Is that where Jon works?”

“And lives,” Tim says. “Though you won’t get into his place of residence so easily.” He chuckles and shakes his head, leaning forward to put his head between his knees. He pours a little water over the back of his neck and sighs. “Like I told you, Martin. This place is magic.”

“This place belongs in a fairytale,” Martin says, and laughs when Tim does. “What! It’s true!”

“It’s a secret for a reason, Martin.” Tim nudges Martin’s knee with an elbow and sits up again. “It’s not like Michael Shelley wanted to eat you for being an Outsider because they taste better or something. We have a strict policy when it comes to being a resident or being an Outsider. Georgie was just kind enough to let you in.”

“Which I take doesn’t happen a lot,” Martin guesses. Tim nods.

“Almost never,” he says. “You’re quite the odd one. I wonder what Georgie saw in you?”

Martin heaves a sigh and leans back against the arm of the bench. “Desperation?”

“Yeah?” Tim gives him a small smile. “Running away from something, then? That makes two of us.”

“Yeah?” Martin smiles back. “Good to know.”

“It’s why I told you to go to The Archives if you need something, and to say I sent you.” Tim nudges his knee again, and laughs when Martin groans. “What?”

“I didn’t mention that bit,” Martin grumbles, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It slipped my mind.”

Tim laughs more, and shakes his head when Martin half glares, half pouts at him. “I bet Jon was absolutely _thrilled_ to see you, then. All grouchy and snippy and such, yeah?”

Martin groans again. “Is he always like that?”

“Yeah, basically.” Tim chuckles. “Don’t let it get to you. He’s really bad at communication, and I mean really bad, and he always sounds either annoyed or angry, but he’s not. I guarantee you he’s not.”

“Oh yeah?” Martin raises a brow. “And how can you guarantee that?”

“Because.” Tim grins. “It’s really obvious when he’s actually angry. Let’s just hope you don’t see it.”

* * *

The next time Martin sees Jon, it’s several weeks later and right outside of his flat at three in the morning. He wakes up to insistent, ceaseless knocking and spends the next five minutes muffling his sobs and reigning in a panic attack before he finally gets up. He answers his door to find Jon, looking haggard and exhausted with dark circles under his eyes nearly the same color as the sky, and near vibrating with magic. Words still escape him, so Martin makes a confused noise in Jon’s general direction and rubs his face as he yawns.

“She tried to get in,” Jon tells him, and pushes past Martin into his flat once Martin has frozen solid in the doorway. “I didn’t let her, of course, but she still tried. You didn’t tell me she was a Witch too.”

Martin has to use all of his concentration to move out of the way and close the door, and then turn to face Jon. Words still don’t come, but a broken whimper comes out of his mouth that has Jon frowning and his eyes giving off a faint glow.

“She was rather persistent,” Jon tells him, and starts pacing a route in his entryway. “But she gave up quickly once I started pushing back. I think she’s going to make another attempt, and soon.”

Martin manages to squeak out, “I-I…”

Jon waves him off and shakes his head. “You’re _my_ resident,” he grumbles, and the glow from his eyes flashes brighter for just a moment. “She should know how contracts work, and she needs to lay off it.”

“Jon.” Martin swallows the lump in his throat, but his mouth is almost too dry. “Jon, I-”

“ _Don’t_.” Jon holds up a hand, and shakes his head again. “Don’t apologize, Martin. I know it was Georgie that invited you here, and she doesn’t do so without good reason. So.” Jon crosses his arms and extends his pacing to go around the sofa, while Martin remains frozen. “So I’m going to protect you, because that’s my job. You’re safe here.”

Martin rubs his face and tries to reign in the multitude of emotions trying to win dominance over his already worn out tear ducts. “Jon.”

Jon’s pacing abruptly stops, and Martin looks up to see him facing the clock on the far wall. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, it’s. It’s...I’m sorry.” Jon rubs the back of his neck and avoids looking at Martin as he makes his way back towards his front door. “I didn’t realize the time.”

“Jon.” Martin reaches out and grabs Jon’s wrist as he turns the doorknob, and Jon pauses to glance up at him. “ _Thank you_ ,” is what Martin says, because even though that feels like too little, everything else feels worse.

Jon’s face darkens in the already dim light, and he frowns and nods. “Yes, well, I.” He clears his throat. “I take care of my people,” he says, and Martin lets him go and watches him leave. He closes the door slowly, and it almost doesn’t make a sound when it clicks shut.

Martin starts making himself a cup of tea, because his heart is still pounding too hard for him to even attempt going to sleep, even despite the bone deep exhaustion.

* * *

“I heard Georgie absolutely chewed out Jon for coming over in the middle of the night,” Tim says, and plops down into the grass beside Martin. “Know anything about that?”

Martin hums and rubs his eyes, still sore from crying and the lack of sleep. “Perhaps.”

“Ah.” Tim’s hand squeezes his knee, and Martin abandons his journal to lay down on the grass beside Tim. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Word travels fast in this town,” Martin grumbles, and sniffles.

Tim chuckles. “Yeah, it does. We’re all pretty invested in our own,” he says. “And you became one of us the moment you moved into the Salt Flats.”

Martin snorts at the name, again, because he will never stop finding it funny. “I need to tell Georgie she’s a genius for that name,” he mumbles.

Tim barks a laugh. “Right?”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, just listening to the nearby traffic and chatter of people meandering the park around them, before Tim says, “You know you’re safe here.” He props himself up on his elbows and looks down at Martin. “Right?”

Martin musters his best smile, and it must not be very convincing from the way Tim frowns. “I know.”

Tim groans and flops back down onto the grass. “I can say with some pretty intense confidence that nothing gets in that Jon doesn’t want to.”

Martin hums, because he has nothing to say to that that would move the conversation along in a way that got him out of having it at all.

Tim folds his hands beneath his head as a pillow and sighs. “I’ve been living here for almost a decade,” he says quietly. Martin almost can’t hear him over the ambient noise of the town. “Vacations aside,” he adds, and nudges Martin’s foot with his own.

“A decade is a long time,” Martin says, because he figured Tim was around his age. He swallows and asks around the weight in his chest, “Have...you been alone the entire time?”

Tim shrugs, and Martin can see him smiling in profile. “In a sense,” he says. “I’ve lived alone, sure, but you can’t be lonely in a tight knit community like this. Sasha especially breaks into my house if she thinks I haven’t gotten out enough.”

Martin laughs at the absurdity of it all, and Tim grins.

“And Jon,” Tim adds, softening just enough to make Martin pause. “He takes care of his people. He’s a prickly bastard and an asshole, but he’s a good man.”

Martin nods, and stares up at the sky, watching the clouds roll along. “Yeah,” he says, and sighs. “Sounds like it.”

“That extends to you, Martin.” Tim nudges him again, this time with his elbow against Martin’s side. He feels it like it’s through a curtain, aware of the sensations but detached from them.

“Yeah,” Martin says. “I just need to make myself believe it.”

Tim pops his lips a few times, then sits up abruptly. “How about this,” he says, and pulls out his phone. He taps out a long message before hitting send, and then turns to look down at Martin. “You should come to my place.”

Martin feels is face go hot and he sits up as well, “Tim, I’m flattered, but-”

“No!” Tim waves him off, his face also turning red. “Not like that! Just a party of sorts, I guess? I invited some people and you should come too. Get to know some of the residents better.”

Martin rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know…”

“Martin.” Tim puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “I’m not trying to pressure you, but you could use the social interaction.” He pauses, and when Martin doesn’t say anything, shakes him a little. “Martin!”

“Alright, alright!” Martin feels a laugh bubble out of him, and he shakes his head. “Who all’s going to be there?”

“Me, of course,” Tim says. “Georgie, Jon, Sasha, and my friend Oliver, whom I _know_ you’ll get on with.”

“And that all happened in the last five minutes?” Martin glances down at Tim’s phone, which hasn’t buzzed once.

“Yes,” Tim says immediately, and shakes Martin again. “Come _on_ , Martin!”

Martin swats at him until he lets go, and laughs all the while. “Fine, fine! I’ll go!”

There is more smacking and struggling to get up, and then Tim is leading him back to his place, nestled on a backroad between The Archives and an apothecary that doesn’t have a name on its back entrance. He stops to knock on the apothecary door, and it opens immediately to show a handsome man decked out in handmade crystal jewelry. Martin recognizes him from around town, and then immediately places a name to the face as soon as Martin orients his location in his head. And it helps that the back door of the Red Strings has an emblem of a red ball of yarn, forged in bronze and painted.

“Oliver,” Tim says, and motions to Martin. “This is Martin. Martin, this is Oliver.”

“A pleasure.” Oliver holds a hand out, and his grip is firm when Martin shakes it. “It’s nice to finally officially meet you,” he says. After a short chuckle he adds, “I apologize for Tim, though. I imagine he all but bullied you into this.”

“Lovingly,” Martin says, and chuckles with Oliver when Tim scoffs and crosses his arms.

“It’ll be fun,” Oliver says, and takes the lead to Tim’s back door. He holds it open for Tim and Martin and closes it behind him when he follows. “Provided everyone behaves.”

“Only good clean fun in this household,” Tim says, and starts switching on lights. It’s sparsely decorated with furniture but the walls are covered in a multitude of frames that hold a variety of different pictures. Martin spots at least a dozen different group photos of town residents, and recognizes the few faces he knows in almost every one. “No bad or impaired decisions here.”

Oliver snorts. He leans closer to faux whisper to Martin, “Turns out that even with the town Witch helping, it’s still considered a crime to deface public property.”

Before Martin can even ask, Tim says, “It was Jon’s idea and I didn’t deserve the punishment I got!”

“Not knowing what you’re talking about,” Jon’s voice says from the front of the house, “I disagree. You could use more punishment.”

“Rude.” Tim leans into one doorway, motions, and then walks into the one on the opposite side of the hall. Martin watches Georgie and Sasha follow after Tim, waving at Martin as they go with bright smiles. Oliver does the same, pushing past Martin to follow after them.

Martin starts to head in that same direction, but Tim stops him in the doorway. “Nope,” he says, and shoos him through the other doorway. “Guests have no right to be in the kitchen.”

“I-okay.” Martin lets himself be herded into the den, where Jon is lounging on one of the sofas and scrolling through something on his phone.

“Play nice,” Tim says, and heads back to the kitchen.

Martin hesitates a moment, then sits on the sofa across from Jon. He doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing, and just looks at him. 

He looks tired, again, with dark circles under his eyes and a dullness to him that’s a little concerning. There are a few off color stains on his shirt, which is half tucked into his waistband, and his hair is mostly out of the ponytail it was put in. In a word, he looks disheveled. Martin frowns, and looks around the room at the other pictures coating the walls instead, feeling concern swirl around his chest.

Jon clears his throat, and he’s grimacing down at his phone when Martin looks over again. “I,” he says, and then stops, the grimace half transforming into an irate pout. “Sorry,” he grumbles. “For just. Showing up in the middle of the night.”

“Oh,” Martin says. Jon still hasn't looked up. “It’s...alright. Not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Jon exhales sharply through his nose, but says nothing.

“I,” Martin says, then pauses. Jon glances up at him, and his face colors in such a way that Martin can see a constellation of freckles across the bridge of his nose. “I appreciate it, though,” he says. “The, the information. And the protection. I appreciate it.”

“Oh,” Jon says. He sets down his phone and rubs the back of his neck. “You’re, uh. You’re welcome.”

“You two are awful,” Sasha says, and comes in with two bowls, one of crisps and another of dip. She puts them on the coffee table between them. “Stop being awkward.”

Jon scoffs and crosses his arms, and Martin opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Sasha sits down in the armchair and shakes her head. 

“Ridiculous,” she says.

Jon shoots a look at Martin, and their eyes meet briefly. Martin swears Jon gives him a ghost of a smile before he turns back to Sasha.

Something almost painful squeezes in his chest.

* * *

It’s several days later that Martin nearly bumps into him this time, but Jon is unperturbed by it and holds something out to him. “Here.”

Martin blinks and takes it, and marvels at how the light refracts through the prism now in his hand. “Uh. What’s this?” he asks, and holds it up to catch more direct sunlight with it. It scatters rainbows across his body.

“Protection,” Jon tells him, and crosses his arms. Martin pockets the prism and frowns, but Jon doesn’t look any sort of annoyed. The crossed arms are throwing him off, and he finds it difficult to parse emotion from Jon when he says, “Keep it on you or it won’t work.”

“O...kay,” Martin says, and looks Jon over.

He looks more rested than before, and cleaner than the last time he saw him. He’s wearing slacks and a button up shirt and, for heaven’s sake, braces, which makes him look almost cartoonishly anachronistic. Around his neck is the key that usually hangs from The Archivist’s collar, and it glitters in much the same way as the prism now in Martin’s pocket.

“Yes, I’ve been sleeping,” Jon says, like he’s saying it for the tenth time. He fiddled with the key around his neck as he sighs. “Please don’t add your name to the long list of people that make it their job to torment me.”

Martin cracks a smile and rubs at one of the smooth faces of the prism with his thumb. “Clearly that long list of people still don’t succeed at getting you to take proper care of yourself,” he says.

Jon scoffs, but the corner of his mouth twitches up for long enough that his amusement is apparent, even though he directs a glare right at Martin. “Spare me.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Martin says, and grins when Jon scoffs again but breaks out in a smile. It brightens his face and gives him a new look of youthfulness that has Martin’s heart stuttering in his chest in some form of betrayal.

“Fine, alright,” Jon says, and nods over his shoulder before turning around. “Come on, then.”

“W-” Martin follows after him with a start. “Wait, where are we going?”

“If you’re going to harass me, might as well do it over tea,” Jon says, and turns a corner. They’re somehow on Central Street, even though Martin knows they were nowhere near it before.

“Tea,” Martin repeats. He watches Jon’s back as they walk, sees how he’s both tense and relaxed at the same time, somehow, and nods. “Alright, tea sounds good.”

“I prefer homemade,” Jon says, and sighs. “But Georgie confiscated my microwave.”

“Your-” Martin stops walking, and Jon pauses a few steps further ahead, looking back in confusion. “Jon,” Martin says, and puts his hands together in front of himself. “Please don’t tell me you heat your water in the microwave.”

Jon gives him what is very clearly a petulant pout, and says nothing.

“ _Jon_ ,” Martin says, aghast, and takes the few steps to close the distance between them. Jon turns and starts walking again, now with his arms crossed. “Jon, that’s not how you make tea!”

“It’s how _I_ made tea,” Jon mumbles. “It worked well enough.

“Oh my god.” Martin rubs his face with one hand, and laughs. Something settles next to his heart as he watches Jon huff and glare at him, something solid and warm, and he shakes his head. “How about I make you tea instead? Do you have a kettle?”

This time, Jon is the one that stops walking, but Martin stops immediately so they remain side by side. Jon is looking up at him, looking him over, and he frowns with a new intensity. “No,” he says slowly. “And I don’t allow visitors in my living space regardless.”

“Oh.” Martin rubs the back of his head. “Right, yeah, that’s fair.”

Jon purses his lips, and looks Martin directly in the eye. The hazel irises shift like an ocean wave, and Martin feels a distinct pain in the back of his skull, at the base, and prods there with his fingers. He feels nothing unusual, and the pain does not ease.

Jon stares at him long enough that it becomes a little awkward, and Martin stutters out, “U-um…?” in hopes of breaking whatever trance he’s in before he burns a hole through him with the power of his glare alone.

Then, abruptly, Jon heaves a sigh and starts walking again. “Perhaps we should reschedule,” he says. “I just remembered that I have to make a charm for Tim.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Martin nods even though Jon isn’t looking at him. “Uh, rescheduled then. Should…”

Jon glances at him when they stop at a street corner. He keeps his eyes to the ground, and looks a little downcast with the way his eyebrows are just slightly furrowed and the corner of his mouth is pulled down.

“Should I wait on you, or call you next I’m free?” Martin asks. It feels decidedly forced, like the pleasantries soured between his mouth and Jon’s ears. It’s almost a relief when Jon shakes his head.

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” he says, and he gives a small, halfhearted wave before turning and walking back down Central toward The Archives.

Martin watches him until he’s out of sight, and then exhales. The feeling next to his heart is so warm it almost burns, but it’s not wholly unpleasant. It burns and cools him and shifts like grass in the wind, and he sighs with the soft feeling of desire that comes with it.

It doesn’t take more than a second for him to realize that, after everything, he has some kind of schoolboy crush on Jonathan Sims. And he wonders if that was why Jon suddenly looked so sad.

* * *

The next time Martin sees The Archivist, the cat immediately hisses at him and skitters away when he tries to reach for pets. He frowns, the cat growls, and he goes, “So Jon told you, huh?”

The Archivist hisses again. Martin sighs and lets his hand fall back to his side. It takes a few seconds after that for The Archivist to relax enough to sit back down where he was perched, on the fence between two buildings, but then he stares right at Martin with something like sad judgement.

“I know,” he says to the cat, who lets out a soft _mrrp_ in response. “I know it’s how it’s set up, but it still makes me a bit sad, you know? I wish it didn’t have to be a ‘everyone who might want to marry Jon is an enemy’ rule, and maybe just a…” Martin waves his hand in the air, and the motion at first puts The Archivist on edge again, but he settles down quickly. “‘Everyone who has ill intentions’ rule. But I guess that’d be hard to figure out, huh?” Martin sighs.

The Archivist lets out another _mrrp_ , almost curious.

“What?” Martin asks, as if the Familiar can respond to him. “Did I say something odd?”

The Archivist _mrrp_ ’s again and stands up, his tail upright and swishing. Martin hesitates, but the Archivist leans forward to sniff at him and he decides to risk it. He reaches up slowly, and The Archivist doesn’t pull away as he moves his hand up to scratch behind his ears. The rumbling, throaty purr fades in seconds later, and Martin smiles.

He looks at the key around the cat’s collar for a second, debates with himself, then decides that it isn’t worth it. He didn’t want to be considered an enemy, or his love for Jon a bad thing. And besides, he didn't know the man nearly enough to want to _marry_ him, even considering the magical power and responsibilities he’d inherit with the marriage.

The Archivist lets him run a hand along his entire fluffy body, and even scratch under his chin.  
“You’re a beautiful cat,” Martin tells him, and The Archivist meows loudly in agreement. “Lovely fur,” he says, and gets another meow.

“Am I interrupting something?” someone asks, and The Archivist is off like a rocket.

Martin tries to call out to the cat as it runs, but he has no luck and instead turns to half glare at Oliver, who chuckles.

“Sorry,” he says with a chuckle. “I couldn’t help it. You were just so friendly with him, it was adorable.”

“You scared him away!” Martin huffs, and crosses his arms. “We were having a _moment_.”

“Clearly.” Oliver chuckles again. Then, he mimics Martin’s pose with the crossed arms and a slight lean back, and asks, “Why didn’t you grab the key? You had the perfect opportunity.”

Martin freezes for a second, immediately thrown off his rhythm, but Oliver gives him a curious, companionable, and sightly mocking smile. “So much for tact,” he grumbles, and Oliver’s laugh is musical as it bounces around the alleyway. It’s a soothing sound that makes it incredibly difficult for Martin to stay upset. He hesitates, but he doesn’t have to think about his answer when he says, “I didn’t want to.”

“You didn’t want to,” Oliver repeats, and raises a brow. “But you have feelings for him, don’t you?”

Martin shrugs. He feels his face heat up and he rubs the back of his neck as he looks off at a random point in the sky. With the way Oliver is looking at him, both amused and a little concerned, he doesn’t think a lie could get past him. So, resigned, he mumbles, “Yeah.”

Oliver tilts his head, and the concern comes closer to the front. “So...why not grab it? I know you just said you didn’t want to, but why not?”

Martin shrugs again. “I don’t think chasing around his cat is the best way to go about showing Jon that I, that I care about him,” he says, and his face gets even hotter. “And I don’t l-, uh, love. Him.” He clears his throat. “For the magic he has.”

Oliver hums, and then abruptly shrugs and turns to walk away. “Maybe you can actually get through to him, then,” he says, before turning the corner and disappearing.

Martin stares after him for several long minutes, before shouting after him, certain he’s too far away to hear him, “Nice talking to you! I guess!”

He shakes his head and continues on his way.

* * *

Jon gives him a curious look the next time they cross paths. It’s somewhere between confused and suspicious, as he looks Martin up and down, and Martin stops walking to let Jon get his fill of whatever it is he’s doing. Jon is organizing a box of something on an outside table in front of the Archives, or was before Martin walked by, and Martin was on his way to the store for eggs, because he ran out that morning and wanted to bake something for dessert later.

Martin shuffles his feet and lets the feeling of being examined, of being pinned down and studied, rake over him. It abruptly stops when Jon finally looks at his face, and Jon flushes and looks back to his abandoned work, trying to play it off like he hadn’t just stared for several minutes.

Martin shrugs, and closes the distance between them. Jon’s shoulders hike up and, if he had hackles to raise, they’d be up to clearly show the tension.

The prismatic key rests against his chest, half obscured by his cardigan.

“What are you doing?” Martin asks, trying to be casual. 

Jon doesn’t look up and doesn’t relax, but he does answer with a rather curt, “Organizing.”

Martin hums. He doesn’t know if humor is the way to get Jon to calm down even just a little, but he decides to give it a shot and says, “Seems kind of pointless, given the state of the place. You could lure someone in there with the promise of wine and brick them in with a bunch of boxes, and they’d never be seen again.”

Jon snorts, and then flushes darker and covers his face. He turns fully away from Martin and all but hides against the front wall of the Archives, and he trembles a little. It’s unclear if it’s contained laughter, maybe crying, or even some level of rage.

“Uh,” Martin says, trying to fill the silence. “I-I didn’t mean that as, like, an insult? I wasn’t, I wasn’t taking a jab at you, I’m sorry if-”

He snaps his mouth shut immediately when he hears the quiet chortling coming from Jon’s hunched over form.

Jon shakes himself out, his arms and back relaxing, and shakes his head. “Would that make you Fortunato in this case?” he asks, voice harsh, but as he turns around the corner of his mouth is pulled up in a smirk.

Martin bites down on his lip to keep from barking a laugh, and clears his throat. “Maybe,” he says. “I’m not much one for wine, though.”

“Pity,” Jon says, and Martin can’t stop himself from laughing a second time. Jon’s smirk blossoms into a smile and he shakes his head, going back to rifling through the box. The warmth in Martin’s chest is a sunspot that burns pleasantly and makes his stomach swoop.

“Sorry.” Martin shakes his head as well and rubs the back of his neck. “You were staring, so I walked over.”

“Ah.” Jon’s smile immediately disappears, and Martin frowns. “Yes.”

He doesn’t know what else to say, so of course what immediately comes out of his mouth is, “Sorry.”

Jon blinks, and looks up at him. His eyes shift, cycling through blue-green-brown-grey before settling back into hazel, and he frowns. “‘Sorry’?” he repeats, and the way his brows are furrowed reads confused but his tone reads angry.

“F-for, ah, disturbing you?” Martin says, and points in the direction he was once walking. “I can, I can go? If you’d like.”

Jon scoffs and turns back to his work yet again. “If that’s what _you_ want to do, then by all means,” he grumbles, then goes quiet. The silence is thick enough that Martin is afraid he might start to choke on it.

He shuffles his feet, and settles on walking away. He hesitates after a few steps and turns back to Jon, seeing the way his shoulders are slumped, and says, “I’ll, I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

Jon turns to look at Martin in return, a raw confusion on his face, and he says quietly after a few more seconds of silence, “Yes, I’d...like that.”

Martin waves, and Jon gives a small, almost uncertain wave back.

As Martin walks, he finds himself somehow even more in love with the Witch known as Jonathan Sims.

* * *

One of the final nails in the proverbial coffin comes from Georgie. She knocks on Martin’s door just after dinnertime with a dangerous look in her eye that Martin wants to describe as angry, but she sounds pleasant and almost mirthful when she asks, “Are you busy right now? I’d like to spend some time together.”

Martin blinks, looks behind him at his empty flat, then steps aside and motions her in. Georgie waltzes in and grins at him, and he gets the vague feeling that he’ll regret letting her in within the next ten minutes.

“Tea?” he asks her, as she takes a seat on the floral sofa.

“No thanks,” Georgie says, and pats the spot beside her. “Take a seat, Martin.”

Martin hesitates. Her grin gets a bit sharp and she pats beside her again, and he sighs but does as instructed.

“Can I at least know what’s going on?” Martin asks, sounding more petulant than he actually felt.

Georgie gives him a genuine laugh, and some of the tension that sat like a steel rod in his spine softens, filling him with a warm relief. “It’s not something bad, Martin,” she says. “It’s just something delicate.”

“Delicate,” Martin repeats, raising a brow.

“Yes.” Georgie laces her fingers together and rests her hands in her lap. She half turns to Martin and purses her lips, but when she inhales she lets it out in a sigh instead of saying anything. There’s a moment of silence, then she asks, “Does Jon know what you love him?”

Martin’s face immediately flares up, and he feels like he almost swallows his tongue. It takes him a second to answer, but he does manage to squeak out, “What?”

“You’re _really_ obvious about it, Martin,” she tells him, and shakes her head. “But Jon knowing is a different problem. Does he know?”

Martin takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a rush. “I think so,” he admits quietly. “The Archivist avoids me now, mostly.”

“Mostly?” Georgie arches a brow.

Martin rubs his arm. “Mostly,” he says again, now with the slightest upward inflection because he’s feeling uncertain.

Georgie tilts her head and gives him a look, somewhere between annoyed and concerned, but she shakes her head. “So, what do you plan on doing about it?” she asks, and leans back with a sigh.

Martin fidgets in his seat and twiddles his fingers. “About...what?” he asks, even though he knows. He finds himself wanting to escape, but they’re in his flat and leaving Georgie alone in his own place of residence was awkward at least and comical at most. “I-I don’t-”

“Martin.” Georgie sighs through her nose, and Martin’s jaw snaps shut. “Word travels fast,” she tells him. “You should know this by now.”

Martin groans and rubs his face, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. “I know, I know,” he gripes. “No secrets in this town, and that’s by design.”

“So what are you going to _do_?” Georgie asks again, empathetically. “Because you never struck me as the type of guy to chase around a cat and jump straight into marriage.”

Martin groans again, into the palms of his hands. “I need to ask Jon out,” he says, almost a whine. “I don’t want to _marry_ him, god no, I just.” He sighs, and looks up at Georgie. She’s staring at him with a sparkle in her eye that immediately makes him feel embarrassed, but also bolstered. “I want to get to know him better.”

Georgie waits a few seconds before nodding, and she says, “The hardest step is admitting you have a problem.”

Martin scoffs. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, I guess?”

She laughs a little and shakes her head. “I’ve known Jon for a decent chunk of time,” she says instead of responding to him directly. “Do you want tips?”

Martin blinks, staring at her, and then raises a brow. “You want to help me?” he asks, and honestly tries not to sound as surprised as he feels, but he fails miserably. Georgie rolls her eyes at him. “I mean-“ He shakes his head. “Isn’t this town basically dedicated to keeping Jon safe? Like, a give and take sort of deal?”

“Keeping him safe doesn’t mean keeping him from dating,” Georgie says, and rolls her eyes again. “We’re not his parents, we’re just protective. He’s our Witch--he keeps us safe and we do the same for him.”

“So you’re going to help me,” Martin says again, now as a statement instead of an incredulous question. “...why?” he asks, his voice swinging up almost to the point of squeaking.

“I’m going to help you,” Georgie repeats, and grins brightly. “Because I think you’ll be good for him. He’s been alone for far too long.”

“Al-alright.” Martin laughs a little, and feels a nervous hope start to grow in his stomach. It makes him nauseous and sets his skin alight, and each beat of his heart punches against his ribs almost painfully, but he can’t say the sensations are unpleasant. “So...I have to woo Jon.”

Georgie snorts. Martin’s face heats up and he stutters out a complaint, but Georgie says, “Just ask him out like a normal person.”

Martin opens his mouth, then closes it. “Alright,” he says. “That’s fair.”

* * *

It turns out to be much harder than he first considered, finding the right time to talk to Jon and ask him out. He gets plenty of opportunities, all things considered, but they pass so quickly that by the time he realizes the moment, it’s already passed.

The first is not even a day after his talk with Georgie. He comes across Jon talking to a small group of people, his shoulders tense and face pinched, but each person in the group looks thankful to the point of tears. The closer Martin gets, the more evident it becomes that Jon is lecturing them, and that it’s a group of teenagers looking worse for wear.

They’ve dispersed by the time Martin reaches Jon, and Jon heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his hair, half tugging it out of its ponytail. Martin is caught by how beautiful Jon is, even as tired and disheveled as he looks, and Jon stares up at him with a faint confusion and light blush across his face.

The words are caught in Martin’s throat and he can’t force them out, so he just stares. He stares long enough for Jon’s face to go from confused to annoyed, and he snaps, “What are you staring at, Martin? Do you need something?”

He sounds harsh, impatient, and most of all tired. Martin doesn't know how to recover from this, and practically runs away from Jon instead. He hears Jon sigh as he flees, and feels a twist in his stomach not unlike guilt.

Another opportunity is a week later, as quick to come and go as the first. Jon shows up at his doorstep to give him a long awaited update on the other Witch trying to get into town, and Jon spends a few seconds more than was necessary reassuring him. He stares right into Martin’s eyes for long enough that Martin’s heart picks up, but then the moment is over and Jon is saying his farewells and hustling back out the door.

The whole ‘staring into his soul’ moment happens two more times on their own. The next time, he’s standing in line for coffee when Jon just so happens to be working behind the counter, and seems surprised to see Martin there. It’s not the first time Martin has seen him work for various businesses around town, but it is the first time that Jon just stares at him instead of doing whatever his job is. It goes on until the person behind Martin clears their throat, then Jon jumps and takes his order.

The time after that is from across the fountain in the park. Martin is sitting on his usual bench, writing in his journal this time around, when he suddenly gets that feeling that he’s being observed in much the same way a butterfly is pinned to a board. He looks up and immediately sees Jon, on the opposite side of the little park square, and Jon’s eyes are glowing as he stares directly at him. Martin doesn’t know what to do about that, so he simply raises his hand in a shy wave. Jon blinks, the feeling disappears, and Jon is shuffling off before Martin can even begin to get up to go talk to him.

And aside from those, there’s the moment they had when Martin stopped by The Archives to ask for a favor, but Jon was too focused on the work that had to be done for Martin to feel comfortable asking him out at the time. And then there’s the moment that Jon practically falls into his arms, missing a rung on a ladder on his way down just as Martin happens to be walking below him.

Jon is surprisingly light, Martin notices, because catching him takes almost no muscle. He also notices that Jon is in his arms at a rather odd angle, like he was trying to twist around to see the ground, so their faces are in close proximity. It’s a rather cliche romantic trope, but Jon immediately huffs and squirms out of his arms, brushing himself off. He gives a curt thanks and then starts to put away the ladder. The moment he could have asked comes and goes, Martin almost bids Jon a farewell and continues on his way, but he hesitates. Jon notices this immediately and turns to him, a frown on his face and an eyebrow raised.

Martin shrugs and simply asks him, “Need any help putting that away?” and points at the half folded ladder.

Jon looks at it, looks at Martin, and there’s the slightest tilt to his head and furrow to his brow before he slowly says, “...yes, if you’re offering.” 

He maintains this look of distant confusion as they fold the ladder properly, and as Martin insists on carrying it inside himself. He starts to look irritated as Martin struggles to get it to fit back in the supply closet, but it disappears completely once Martin dusts his hands off on his trousers and asks, “Anything else?”

Then, Jon looks almost lost for a second, but then he says, “No, Martin. That’s it.” He pauses, then adds, almost softly, “Thank you.”

So Martin gives him a smile and continues on his way, all the while half beating himself up about not asking Jon yet again.

It’s all rather frustrating.

(Luckily, the moment to ask was fast approaching. Not that he knew that.)

This time, different from the rest (but still not what he hopes it’ll be), Martin physically bumps into Jon in _James’ Goods_ , and all he can do is stutter out, “Hello Jon!” before his voice is lost somewhere in his ribcage.

Jon is dressed up, with his hair cleaned and pulled back with a decorative star clip that catches the fluorescent lights and glitters, and a floor length black skirt with a matching blazer. Underneath the blazer is a plain white shirt, properly buttoned, and resting on his sternum is a matching star pendant that catches the lights in a similar way.

He’s breathtaking.

Jon stares up at him with an expression of concentration, chewing on his lower lip in a way that’s distracting, but before Martin can force more words out of his tight throat Jon says, “Sorry, Martin, I can’t stay and chat.” He brushes past Martin and, if he were a more dramatic person, Martin might swear his heart breaks at how beautiful Jon is as he all but floats away and out of sight.

Sasha finds him standing there a short while later, her ridiculous hat today being what looks almost like a mobile of stars, and the theme of it is not lost on Martin even in his stupor. She nudges his shoulder and he blinks down at her, and she smiles.

“That bad, huh?” she says, not at all teasing, but Martin flushes anyway.

“What’s with all of the star stuff?” Martin asks instead, trying to slow down the beating of his heart.

“Oh.” Sasha reaches up and touches the edge of the mobile, and it even starts spinning and playing light music, a glissando that falls and then rises. “It’s a special day,” she says, and grins at him. “It’s the night Jon calls the rains.”

“Calls the rains,” Martin repeats, and raises a brow. “As in, like...makes it rain, yeah?”

“Yes!” Sasha giggles. “It’s an entire thing, basically. He prepares for it all day and then does a ceremony to make sure it rains, and it’s basically reaffirming the barrier around the town.”

“Why rain?” Martin asks, and watches the mobile lean dangerously to one side when Sasha tilts her head and shrugs.

“Why not?” she asks in response.

Martin shakes his head, and belatedly realises one thing. “Hey Sasha?”

Sasha looks up at him with an inquiring hum.

“Where is The Archivist during all this? Jon wasn’t wearing the key today.”

“Ah.” Sasha grins. “That’s a secret, sorry. Jon swears us to secrecy.”

“Who’s us?” Martin asks, and then immediately shakes his head. “Never mind,” he starts to say, but then Sasha surprises him by answering.

“Me, Tim and Georgie,” she says, and her grin softens to something fond. “We were all around when he first became a Witch.”

“When he first became a Witch,” Martin repeats, and shakes his head again. “So he wasn’t born one?”

Sasha hums in a noncommittal way and says, “That’s probably a third date question.” Martin chokes for a second, but then Sasha is giggling and patting his back. “Come on, Martin, pull it together! We’re all rooting for you, but you can’t go out with Jon if you _die_.”

Martin clears his throat a few times and thumps his fist against his chest to clear his airways. “I swear you all are trying to kill me.”

“Debatable,” she says, then pats his back again. “You should finish your shopping and head on home before the rain starts. It comes down in sheets.”

“Ah.” Martin checks his watch, like he knows the timetables for Jon’s whole magical ritual. He hears Sasha titter at the motion, but he decides not to acknowledge it, and says, “You’re right, it’s getting late anyways.” He pauses, then adds, “Thanks.”

Sasha grins at him again, all sharp teeth and good humor. “Hurry home, Martin.”

He does as she suggested, and he’s lucky that he gets under the safety of the complex roof before the rain starts to come down in a veritable deluge. He originally thought that the ritual for reinforcing the town’s barrier was something that required a lengthy bit of time, but from the moment he had seen Jon at the store to now, barely an hour has gone by.

He makes his way up to his flat and starts to put away his groceries, the same routine as always minus the pounding rain, when he hears a tapping.

He stops what he’s doing and pauses, listening hard, and hears it again coming from his bedroom. For a second he’s worried that he forgot to close his window from earlier, but as he makes his way there to see where the noise is coming from, instead he finds The Archivist on the other side of his window. The cat is absolutely drenched, a sad drowned animal sitting on the fire escape, and Martin opens his window enough to let him inside before closing it again.

“Now hold on,” Martin says, as The Archivist gets into position to shake himself out. Dutifully, the cat stops, looks up at him, and meows in a way that’s both disgruntled and adorable. “I’ll go get a towel and dry you off that way. Don’t go getting water all over my bedroom, Georgie would kill me.”

The Archivist meows again, now clearly annoyed, and instead lays down where he stands. Martin hustles off to grab a clean towel from the bathroom and, after pausing to wordlessly ask for permission, scoops up The Archivist and begins drying him off.

The towel catches on something as he rubs down the cat, but it isn’t until he sits down on the sofa that he realizes that The Archivist is wearing the same key as always.

“Oh,” he says, and The Archivist grumbles and half glares up at Martin. “I, uh.” He hesitates, but decides saying something was better than just reaching for it. “I’m going to take off that key, alright? So I don’t choke you while drying you off.”

He waits for a second, but The Archivist just blinks at him once and does nothing else. So he slowly unties the key from around the cat’s neck and sets it on the coffee table before continuing to rub him dry.

It takes a good half an hour before The Archivist is dry enough for Martin to feel safe in letting him roam around the flat, and The Archivist sniffs around with curiosity the moment he’s released from Martin’s hold.

“I’ll.” Martin stands, and The Archivist looks over at him with his tail swishing high in the air behind him. “...go find something for you to eat,” he says, even though he was originally going to make tea, mostly out of reflex.

He turns around and takes one step before he hears an odd noise behind him. It’s like the air is being sucked into a vacuum, but in such a way that it sounds like something expanding. He turns around again to find, not The Archivist, but Jon standing there and staring at him, wearing the same clothes from earlier but now wet.

Martin blinks. Jon shuffles his feet.

“Sorry to, uh,” Jon says, and twirls a damp clump of hair around one of his fingers. “Come in uninvited.”

Martin blinks again.

Jon’s shoulders start to hunch, but his expression becomes continuously more annoyed as Martin stands there in silence.

Then, “...wait.”

Jon lets out a breath, and the tension drains out of him like he’s deflating.

“ _You’re_...The Archivist?” Martin asks, and saying it out loud makes it painfully obvious. “You’ve been the cat the entire time?”

“Yes, well.” Jon clears his throat.

Martin thinks back to the odd ways Tim, Georgie and Sasha reacted to his inquiries about what he had assumed at the time was Jon’s familiar. Not to mention that Jon lives in The Archives and is, by all rights, the archivist for it. Martin just feels ridiculously stupid, and covers his face with a hand.

“It was Tim’s idea,” Jon says, like that explains anything. He sounds almost frantic, but also irritated. “What better way to keep people from catching the cat than if the cat is me?”

“I’m an idiot,” Martin says, and Jon immediately scoffs.

“Hardly,” he says, and when Martin looks up Jon has his arms crossed and he’s glaring at the far wall. “It’s by design. Wouldn’t be a very good ploy if people saw through it easily.”

It makes sense. That doesn’t mean Martin feels any less the fool.

He’s still looking at Jon, so he notices Jon shoot a quick glance down at the coffee table, and follows his eyes. The key sits practically abandoned, the collar still a bit damp, and Martin wonders, absently and in the back of his head, if this means he and Jon are supposed to get married.

Jon stiffens when Martin reaches down and grabs the key.

He practically falls over when Martin holds the key out to him.

“But.” Jon furrows his brow and frowns down at the key. “It’s yours now,” he snaps. “You caught the cat, you got the key. It’s yours now.”

“Funny thing about that,” Martin says, and lets his mouth say what first comes to mind, because most of it is still making sense of all the coincidences that now line up into deliberate choices. “I didn’t catch the cat, the cat came to me.” He shakes the key a little, and Jon huffs and finally reaches for it. “And I don’t think jumping straight into marriage is good for a relationship.”

Jon’s hand lingers against Martins as he takes back the key.

“So.” Jon holds it against his chest, and frowns. “What now, then?”

“Well.” Martin shakes his head and laughs a little, and wonders just how many more tricks and secrets Jon has hidden up his sleeves. “Normal people start with dating,” he says.

“Ah.” Jon blushes, and the color brings out the constellation of freckles across his nose again. Martin doesn’t feel at all guilty for staring this time. “Get that from Georgie, did you?”

“Yes,” Martin says immediately, and laughs when Jon puffs out a quiet laugh. “So…” He rubs the back of his neck and glances down at the key. “Would you like to go get that tea? I know you said you’d call me, but.”

“Ah,” Jon says again, and the way his face brightens with amusement takes Martin’s breath away. It’s just a slight change, all things considered, but the faint upturn of one corner of his mouth and the way his eyes wrinkle at the corners is some of the most emoting Martin has seen him do. Jon, Martin decides immediately, has a smile he’d die for. “Yes, I do think I’m going to be getting some free time in my schedule soon. I trust you’re available?”

“I am,” Martin says, and then remembers where they are and what he was doing. He bites down on his lower lip and says, “How about right now, then?”

Jon blinks. “Right now?”

“For that tea,” he says. “I can make you a proper cup, not in a microwave.”

Jon snorts, but he smiles again and Martin drinks in as many details of it as he can. “I suppose now is as good a time as any. The rain won’t let up for another few hours, regardless.”

“I’ll get that started, then.” Martin takes a step back, half turned to the kitchen, and adds, “And then we can finally have a proper conversation.”

“Yes.” Jon takes a step to follow him, and Martin makes his way to the kitchen to prepare the tea. “And we have a lot to talk about.”

“I hope we have enough time, then,” Martin says, and pulls down two cups from the cupboard. When he turns back to Jon, his eyes meet glowing hazel, and Jon smiles at him again.

“We’ll have as much time as we need.”

**Author's Note:**

> HI ZYKA I LOVE YOU this is for you because you've been such a massive cheerleader for me on the server and I wanted to write something for your birthday and BAM got it out THE DAY OF. I'm good at this sometimes!
> 
> shoutout to [osten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostentenacity/pseuds/Ostentenacity) and [ bane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane) for cheering me on and beta~


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